Lover
by clumsy eloQuence 666
Summary: ONESHOT PersephoneHades. maybe persephone didn't mind her captivity all that much...maybe it brought out the best side of her. rated M for sexual content. sort of reflective. R


**AN: i am in LOVE with greek myths, and Persephone and Hades has always been a favorite, so here's my version. it's a bit reflective, but whatever. tell me what you think!  
**

_**Lover**_

I miss him. Very much. It's odd, for I had never expected to miss him. He was supposedly the bane of my existence, the stealer of my innocence. I actually almost thanked him for it. I hate being ignorant, and yet nobody seems to care that I want to know things. Except for him.

He treats me like a woman, not a girl. A woman to be taught, desired, cherished, loved. Taken. I could never forget that he had taken me, but I was beginning to feel that I could forgive him, and perhaps even understand him.

Down there, I could only feel confused. I could not see my true thoughts through his darkness. But now that I am here, they're revealed with frank clarity. I almost wished that I could have seen them in the dark; it would have made it easier to come back up here.

Here. The world of light and life. It's a world without depth. His realms are darker and deeper than any profoundness in this world. They intrigue me. They test my mental strength, my will. I would never admit it to my mother, who believes she has molded me into a creature as meek and docile as a deer, but I do love the challenge.

My mother. She would never approve of these thoughts. She is known as Demeter, Goddess of the Harvest. She is a being of light and life, to be sure. Expressing such deep thoughts would make her crease her brows at me and tell me that I should leave such things to wiser beings with less youth and more time. I hate it when she does that. I don't hate her, not at all, but the way she treats me. She has been a good mother, nurturing and sweet, but being immortal has given her a flaw concerning me: she believes that she has all the time in the world to keep me as her child, the daughter of spring. She cannot understand that I have no wish to be this child any longer. He understands, though.

He with silky hair of ink and fathomless black eyes that smolder like hot coals whenever he looks at me. He is tall, taller than me by two heads, with pale skin that forever looks as though the Moon is bathing him in her luminescent light. He is strong like his brothers Zeus and Neptune, but never as boisterous or bulky as Zeus, nor as fickle as Neptune. Many think his emotions have been dulled by the Realms of the Dead, but I am the one who holds his most valued secret: he burns inside, burns with passion and knowledge. I am special to be the only one to have seen it.

I know that he is wary of his passion, having seen how his brothers and cousins and nephews abuse it, and so I know that I am the only one to have seen it. I saw it that first night, when he came to my chambers. I knew that he wanted to wait until I accepted him but was afraid that I would be taken back before that. And so he came to me with soft words and softer touches. I understood what he was doing, and I let him, although not with any show of love to return his, for I was still confused at what I felt. That was what made him leave afterwards. It was what made me eat those six seeds; six crimson bearers of life to seal my fate with Death. I did it so that I could come back, come back and explore more of his world.

He showed his passion for me in other ways, though. He was considerate and good company, if not a bit reserved. He would watch me when he thought I wasn't looking. It wasn't predatory, like others had looked at me up here, but quietly fascinated.

He made me feel hotter than Apollo could ever hope to achieve, and darker than the blackest of nights. He gave me mystery and secrets, made me a woman in the eyes of all. Even my mother can't refute it, although she does chose to ignore it.

I have decided that I am more than willing to return to him. I will go to him with a clear mind, a full heart, and open arms to soothe the loneliness I know is there inside him. I will give him a gift for all he has given me.

The dryads surround me, weaving flowers and leaves and vines into auburn hair that reaches my bare feet. They adorn me with life, every bit of it that they can find. They drape delicate white cloth over my ripe figure, letting it catch alluringly at my curves. My mother ordered them to do it, thinking it a tribute and farewell to the world of light that I'm leaving behind until next spring. I see it as part of my gift to him. I will bring every part of me and offer it to him.

* * *

I have ordered the nymphs to stay behind so that I may make my journey alone. I come to the River Styx. No water nymphs play here. It is a calm river, the beginning of the end of a tumultuous Upper World. From here on, it is only peace. Even the souls of the damned and condemned find their peace here, thanks to my husband. He cares for his world very well. 

I enter the great hall trailing petals and leaves in my wake, my vibrant green eyes bright with the hope of seeing him here to greet me. He is not.

He thinks I would come to him reluctantly and he would not see my fresh disappointment. How wrong I will prove him.

I exit the hall with a swishing of skirts. I make my way to his rooms, the grand sleeping chamber where I know he will be. The door obeys my wishes, opening and closing behind me silently. My feet slip across the stone floor, their bare pads barely whispering over the cool stone. My feet meet softness, an enormous fur rug that adorns the floor of most of his room. My eyes search the bed for him, even though my senses are telling me he isn't there. I turn, still silent, towards the hearth at one end of the room.

He is there, sitting on a couch, his back to me. His shoulders are limp, and he faces the fire. I cannot see his face, but I know that he is staring into the fire, tormenting himself with images of me weeping, being dragged into his home. He does not realize my revelations, nor just how much he has changed me.

I come up behind him and put my delicate hands on his shoulders. They are tiny resting against the broad expanse of his back.

He stiffens slightly, relaxing not even while he whispers my name, bracing himself for the hysterics and accusations he knows I have come for.

"Persephone." My name rolls so melodiously off his lips, a large, wet droplet of sweet nectar that he will later reach for and return to his sensual mouth.

"Hades," I return. My hot, moist breath teases the short hairs on the back of his exposed neck. His name tantalizes my tongue into repeating it over and over, so delicious is its taste. I restrain my mouth.

I wait for his reply. My fingertips lightly explore the dark weave encasing his hard body. When it becomes clear that he is waiting for me to say more, I retract my hands and make my way to the other side of his couch.

He makes to stand for me, but I keep him down with a motion from my hand. He waits for me, watching me come closer. His expression is blank, and I am suddenly not so sure of myself, of his desire for me. Perhaps I am not elegant enough for his tastes, not refined enough. I continue anyways, not allowing my body to betray my doubts.

I walk until my legs brush his knees. He tips his head back only a little to hold my eyes with his. I reach out long, eloquent limbs to him. My hands cup the sides of his head, sifting through short dark curls as I lean forward and brush my full lips against his. My eyes were open, but now they slide shut. I come back for a longer sip from his mouth, and this time he responds.

His lips caress mine tenderly, but not chastely. He is a man of dark desires, and it shows even in his addictive kisses. His long fingers entwine themselves in my hair, cupping my head as I cup his. He expects that I will keep it an innocent kiss, an acceptance of him and his love for me. But it isn't. I am here to show him my love for him.

I slither into his lap, straddling his hips as I lean closer. I surround him with my flowers and leaves and cinnamon hair. He is surprised, but his hands slip down to my waist nevertheless. He pulls back from the kiss, leaving my lips swollen and yearning for more.

"Persephone," he whispers again. This time, it contains awe, like a prayer. His voice is rough, ragged from my kisses.

"I love you," I breathe. His eyes fly open, but mine remain half-shuttered. "And I am here to seduce you," I finish just as breathily.

He smiles at this. It's a gorgeous smile. I think he saves them just for me. It creeps up his face, first curling the corners of his mouth, then splitting his lips to reveal a flash of white teeth.

"Hmm, really?" His shoulders relax under the weight of his smile, and his hands start to make slow, sensuous circles on my back. They glide back up, entangling themselves once again in my shining locks, pulling me down to him. I go willingly.

Our lips cling and taste. I know I taste of pomegranates; I ate one before I left the Upper World. He knows I did it on purpose. His tongue slips between my lips, teasing my mouth, tracing my teeth. He finds the flavor of pomegranates everywhere.

His hands glide down to my shoulders, pushing away the strips of cloth that hold my dress up. They fall down until everything to my breasts is bare. His hands grip my upper arms now, holding me in place. His kisses, wet and hot, trail down my throat. My neck arches in response, giving him more.

He shows my body to me in a state that I have never seen it in before, inch by delicious inch. The cloth falls around my waist. My arms, now free, lock around his neck. His head dips down. I feel his tongue on my side, at my waist. It slicks a path over the sensitive skin, following it up to where he diverges to tease the underside of my breast. He makes my breasts feel heavy with passion. I know they're not overly large like my mother's or those of the nymphs I used to play with. It used to bother me, beign different from them in any way. Not anymore. My thoughts are lost as my murmurs turn to soft moans.

The firelight casts a blurred glow on our two figures, mine draped over his. He teases me with lips and teeth, fingers and tongue, whispers and looks. He undresses me, making us both languid with pleasure as he goes. He shows me how to tease him back. We move together sinuously. We bask together in the exquisite sensations that radiate from our touches.

He reveals me to myself, showing me who I have been yearning to become all this time. I am woman, a female at the greatest height of her power.

He makes me burn, arch my back until I am bowed before him. He gives me much, and I decide it is my time to give to him. I remember my aunt Aphrodite teaching me her greatest secrets about pleasure when my mother wasn't looking. She must have known what was going to happen. The secrets meant nothing to me then, but now they resonate through both of our bodies. He is surprised that I know these things, but also pleased. I make sure of that.

We finally join, here on the couch, instead of the bed like last time. This time is different in so many ways. There is no pain for me, only an exquisite stretching. It makes me whole; I never want it to end. It can last for all eternity, and I will never tire of it. Last time, we lay in my bed, him on top of me, and the meeting was brief. Now, he shows me how to ride him, sitting in his lap in his domain. The "his" is apparent everywhere. He possesses me completely. I do not mind it at all. I know that I possess him fully as well.

Our hands play, our mouths torment. His agile fingers find a part of me that even Aphrodite had not told me about; she probably wanted me to be surprised. The sensations are delicious. They ripple through me violently until I feel that I can't move a muscle. Hades isn't finished yet, says the look in his eyes. They blaze for me, as I suspect mine do for him.

* * *

We celebrated for many hours that night, and made love many times, all over his room. It was sweet and slow sometimes, other times rapidly and furiously passionate, other times wicked and tantalizing. It ended in his bed, our bed, where I woke up, wrapped up in his arms, my body sprawled over his. I find it amazing how the touch of our bodies makes this morning warm, where many times I have found it freezing. It's not really a morning, just a small, fake sun made for Hades by Apollo as out wedding gift. It gives some light, but not nearly enough to warm everything. The chill air surrounding us only makes our heat that much more welcome. 

I burrow closer to him, burying my face in his chest. He tightens his arms around me in response. I feel lazy, delectably so. I would be content to rest like that all day. I know Hades has somewhere to be, though, so I lift myself on my elbows to look down at him.

He blinks up at me with those bottomless eyes. They aren't reserved any more, but his love for me doesn't shine from their surfaces. Instead, the loneliness that used to haunt them has faded away into nothing. They are full of calm, content. They spark when he smiles at me. A similar grin tugs at my lips.

I cannot help the chortles that bubble out of my throat. He chuckles, and then we both start laughing. His laugh is the deep sound of bells. My gurgling-brook laugh complements his. We laugh harder, until our sides ache. I realize that it's the first time I've ever heard him laugh and I stop.

He stops, too, and looks at me.

"You laughed," I murmur, tracing his lips with a fingertip.

He raises a cynical eyebrow at me. A wry grin tugs at my lips. I suppose it _was_ a ridiculous comment. But then he surprises me.

"So did you." His hand comes up to enclose the one that hovers by his lips. He brings it down to his lips and kisses my palm, his eyes never leaving mine. My eyes flutter shut at the tender gesture. I understand what he means, that it's the first time he's heard me laugh. So I start to laugh again, brushing my hand over his cheek when he releases it. I make a vow to laugh whenever I can around him.

"I love you," he whispers into my hair before he leaves. I already knew that he does, but the words send heat blossoming from the base of my spine anyways, warming me pleasantly. I will join him in his duties soon, but he allows me time to languish under sheets still warm from his heat. The whole bed smells of him, a subtly masculine scent that I can't quite place, now mixed with the smells of my cinnamon and flowers.

* * *

I have spent the last six months in a sanctuary. Even paradise is too shallow a word to describe my new home. It offers so much to me, so much knowledge and so many secrets. My biggest secret now is my love for my husband. I will nurture it in secret above the ground; no one up there, save perhaps Aphrodite, would understand my need to fill his lonely spaces as he fills mine. 

We walk to the River Styx together, alone. There was a magnificent celebration in the great hall in my honor. Now it is just the two of us. He entwines his fingers with mine, and I swing our arms slightly out of habit. It's silly, but that's part of the secret between us.

We reach the river where the ferryman waits for me to board. Hades turns to me. I am not sure how to say goodbye in a way that shows I will be coming back, but he does it for me.

I find myself swept up in a passionate kiss, like one from romantic tales. My feet leave the ground as his arms squeeze me closer, and mine tangle about his neck. The kiss is just lips, which makes it more special. It's fierce and sweet all at the same time. The moment lasts an eternity for me. It's the kiss that I will remember best five and a half months from now when I'm yearning to come home.

He knows I have to leave; it's my duty to the mortals of this planet and my mother. He knows I will come back. He knows that my six months here are the months spent for me, not as a duty. He knows he is my haven, my passion, my life. I know it's that thought that will pull us both through until we meet again.

* * *

I was born to be a lover, a giver, a woman. For so long I have been denied the joy of giving some person everything I possess. My heart, my soul, my freedom, my love. All belong to him. They will belong to him until time runs out, until the stars blink out and the sun is too tired to rise and all that is left is an eternity of darkness. It was meant to be this way. I was meant to be his. And I find, as I discover our love, that I do not mind all that much.

_Fin_

**AN: so, wadja think? i'm getting a bit bolder with_ THOSE_ scenes...review, if ya wanna**_  
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